


though they are red as crimson

by lanthanesthai



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Languages and Linguistics, M/M, Nerdiness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-09 21:32:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3265067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanthanesthai/pseuds/lanthanesthai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your lips are cold,” Jehan whispered, his lips brushing against ‘Ferre’s as they moved.</p><p>“Like I said,” Combeferre replied, “you're such a nerd.”</p><p>(or, the one where Jehan and Combefere are dorks.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	though they are red as crimson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anthean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anthean/gifts).



> I hope I did this prompt justice? I wrote and rewrote it quite a few times, so I really hope so.
> 
> *is lazy and refuses to write translations*
> 
> *will send to beta when is feeling less lazy*
> 
> happy valentines day ♥

“ _Stom ta'pe_ ,” Jehan groaned, rolling over to press his face into the pillow. “It’s too early.”

Combeferre reached over to silence the alarm clock, sliding his arm back under the covers. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “but who was it who suggested that we go the cinema at—” he opened one eye to glance at the alarm, “—two-am in the morning?”

“You’re the one who brought it up,” Jehan argued, curling into ‘Ferre. “I don’t want to get out of bed.”

Combeferre placed a kiss om Jehan’s temple, just above his ear. It was always cold outside of the bed, and colder still outside of the bedroom and on days when he didn’t have class until late afternoon and days when he didn’t have class to go to at all (and especially on days like this when Jehan was there with him feeling just as disinclined to leave as he was) it was getting harder and harder to motivate himself to get up.

With the deep reserves of willpower that had gotten him through AP biochemistry (and, if he was being honest, Courfeyrac’s last birthday party) he dragged himself out of bed, somewhat hindered by the fact that Jehan refused to let go of him.

“Don’t leave me,” Jehan said, wrapping his arms around Combeferre’s waist. “It’s cold in here without you.”

Combeferre presses another kiss, this time to Jehan’s forehead. “Mm, well,” he said, “your personal heater is going to go make us some breakfast.”

Jehan released him and rolled to the other side of the bed, “I’m glad my personal heater is multipurpose.”

Combeferre laughs and slides his feet into the slippers he keeps by the bed (he used to have tartan ones, but Jehan had found him a pair with the solar system on them and he wasn’t exactly going to _not wear them_ ). He opened the door and stepped into the hallway.

“Earl grey or peppermint?” He called.

“ _Me surpreende_ ,” Jehan said, and fell back asleep.

*

Most of the time, students were too busy to go to the on-campus cinema and when they did manage to squeeze some free time out of their busy schedules, they tended to prefer the latest Hollywood releases to the films at the more academic end of the scale. For that reason alone movies with titles such as  _Drăculești_  (a documentary untranslated from the original Romanian, no less)are shown in the smallest of the theaters between the hours of midnight and six-am.

Attendance was moderate, if specialised, and Combeferre was partly convinced that the only reason the night-screenings were still running was so that the night shift workers would have something to do that wouldn't end in the destruction of company property. (Grantaire and Bahorel had assured them all that it was an accident, but they still weren't allowed to work the same shifts.) Grantaire was the one working that day and his notoriously unreliable shift-buddy appeared to be absent, so he just waved them in.

"I feel as if you're missing the point of business," Jehan said, smiling, "you know exchanging currency for goods, and so forth."

"I'm fighting Capitalism," he said, "besides I charged some asshole triple a few minutes back because he was demanding 'premium seating." R shrugged. "I told him we didn't have any but he was pretty insistent, so I charged him extra, he felt superior, and you get to watch a movie about psychopathic war lords for free. It's a win-win situation."

Combeferre glanced at the clock. "Don't you have class tomorrow?" he asked. "Today." And he was aware of the fact that it was a little ironic because he has class later as well, but Grantaire was wearing his exhaustion like a very heavy second skin. He looks weighed down.

"It's fine," he said, waving away his concern and tapping a few buttons on the till. "I've got a commission in a few hours which will set me up for a while. I'll be able to drop a few hours, relax, spend some time with our fearless leader." He grinned. "Apparently he's being a nightmare."

"Well," he began, but it was not something that Combeferre could honestly dispute, so instead he took the printed tickets that R handed them, and he and Jehan walked towards the screen doors.

"Enjoy your nerd film nerds," Grantaire said as they disappeared inside the door. And they did. Jehan translated in the even, metric tone he used whenever he was reciting or soothing. If they hadn't been watching a documentary about a man who literally dipped his bread in the blood of his enemies, and if it wasn't described in vivid detail, Combeferre would have almost found it relaxing.

They emerged a few hours later, discussing the finer points of the portrayal. Someone they didn't know was manning the desk, and they assumed that Grantaire had left to paint. It was around five in the morning and they still had to go to their respective apartments and shower and change and somehow still make it all the way back in time for their morning classes. Jehan kissed Combeferre on the street outside the cinema, while they discussed plans to walk to Coufeyrac's party together.

"I'll see you later," Combeferre said.

" _Pe curând_ ," Jehan replied, and kissed him again.

*

 

They met up next to the fountain that still made faint gurgling noises despite the fact the water had been frozen for a few days. Combeferre was dressed in his dark peacoat and sensibly striped scarf (what Courfeyrac liked to call his librarian aesthetic) while in comparison to 'Ferre's neutral colours, Jehan was a conflagration of primary shades and floral patterns. Combeferre kissed him on the cheek.

"Hello," he said.

"Hi," Jehan replied, unable to stop himself from smiling.

Combeferre inclined his head, "Shall we?" he asked, and they started walking.

After a little while he pulled his glove off and twined his fingers with Jehan’s as they walked down the street. It was mid-winter and though winters were always cold, the sheer brutality of the recent temperatures had had them out on the streets almost every night, handing out hot soups, coats, and blankets. Enjolras was almost outright refusing to leave his apartment, and Grantaire had been all but forced to move in with Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta after they found out that his heater was broken. (He had, hoping to pacify them, assured them that his heating had never actually worked and he’d survived just fine so far. It had, unsurprisingly enough, had the opposite effect.)

Jehan hummed under his breath, stepping closer, so that their shoulders brushed against each other whenever they moved.

“Your hands are cold,” he said, voice muffled by the thick scarf he had wrapped around him.

“Are they?” ‘Ferre asked, arching an eyebrow. “I’m not sure how you can tell, considering that yours are absolutely freezing.”

Jehan grinned. “Yours are arctic.”

“Oh,” Combeferre said, returning the grin, “well yours are _gelidus_.”

“Yours are _kofei._ "

" _Pḗgnomai_."

" _Ghiacciato_.” Jehan bumped his shoulder against ‘Ferre’s, as he was pulled to the side of the pavement in time to avoid being hit by a cyclist.

Combeferre grinned. “That was definitely cheating,” he said, “you’re such a _nerd_.”

“Oh, _I’m_ a nerd?” Jehan replied, “that’s rich coming from you, _chnvn_. Besides,” he added, placing a kiss on ‘Ferre’s cheek. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Maybe, but you have an unfair advantage,” Combeferre replied, returning the kiss. “When did you start learning Italian?”

Jehan hummed again, adjusting his grip o ‘Ferre’s hand. “I knew a fair bit, a little while ago, but I’ve forgotten most of it. I need to pick it up again." He fiddled with the edge of the scarf. "I’m not going to like it as much as the Latin translation, I don't think, but my professor suggested I try reading the Divine Comedy in the original Italian.”

Now highly attuned to when Jehan was about to get very passionate about literature, Combeferre just nodded and made a sound of vague agreement, while attempting burrow even further into his coat as a strong wind picked up. It was hard to tell against the dark of his skin, but his ears were red with cold.

“I mean, he made some valid points,” Jehan continued. “But honestly, I’m not sure I can trust his judgement anymore. He tried to argue that the Bible wasn’t a valid literary text, I mean how _ignorant_ can you be? If he were referring to more modern translations then I’d understand where he was coming from, but the King James Version was linguistically _revolutionary_ , the context alone is a field in and of itself; add in the deliberately antiquated language, and the sheer breadth of subjects—poetry to genealogies—and it’s as much a literary text as the  _Encyclopedia_  is a reference book. I mean if you just listen to it—”

‘Ferre laughed and settled on a fond smile, “Recite some for me,” he said, “so I can listen to it.”

Jehan grinned (and when he smiled like that, ‘Ferre was always sure that he had said the right thing). “ _How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning. How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations_." He pauses for barely a breath, “I mean, just _think_ about that. The use of ‘thou’ had faded into obscurity half a century before it was actually _translated_ , making the use of archaic language _deliberate_ , it was included for the sole purpose of sounding beautiful and if he doesn't think that that's—”

“Okay,” Comberre said, “That’s cool and all, but can you say it in _Hebrew_?”

Jehan looked affronted at being asked such a question (though he wasn't really, because ‘Ferre asking if he could was the same as anyone else asking if he would). “Of course I can,” he said. “ _Eich nafalta mishamayim, heilel ben-shachar; nigda'ta la'aretz, cholesh al-goyim_.”

Combeferre looked simultaneously smitten and impressed, and Jehan thought that if he wasn’t in love with him already, he definitely would be by now. They stared at each other, and while they were both dimly aware that they should have be watching where they were going and observing appropriate pedestrian etiquette, they couldn't quite find it in themselves to care.

Combeferre stoped them in the middle of the street, pulling Jehan into the dark of a closed store-front. With one hand resting on Jehan’s shoulder, he leaned in to kiss him; a soft, chaste press of frozen lips. They rested their foreheads together.

“Your lips are cold,” Jehan whispered, his lips brushing against ‘Ferre’s as they moved.

“Like I said,” Combeferre replied, “you're such a _nerd._ ”

Jehan grinned and stepped back, their hands still clasped together. “To be honest, the only use of such ancient Hebrew is to impress other nerds, and _possibly_ also to seduce my boyfriend…”

Combeferre raised his eyebrow. “Oh, I need seducing, do I?” he said, “And here I was, thinking I was a sure bet.” He kissed Jehan again.

“We’re going to be late,” Jehan said, though he made no move to continue walking. “Courf might cry.”

“Courf will be just fine, I promise,” Combeferre said. “Plus, _statistically_ , there’s no way that we’re going to be as late as Grantaire.”

“And we definitely won’t be as late as Enjolras,” Jehan added. “Though I’m not sure it counts as being late if you do it on purpose.”

 *

Coufeyrac's party was much as they had predicted, which was not difficult to achieve when almost all interactions that involved their friends were essentially the same. Courf forced everyone into playing truth or dare; copious amounts of alcohol were consumed; they ordered enough pizza to last them through a hypothetical apocalypse (" _Be prepared,"_ Joly had whispered, before Grantaire and Bossuet seized onto the line and launched into a frighteningly on-point rendition of  _The Lion King_ ). Someone threw several somethings; Courf pouted when spin the bottle was rejected; Enjolras turned up late and did a very poor job of pretending he was sorry about it (or even that it had been an accident), and he and R got into a spat (which they were getting faster at resolving) and they spent a good few hours sending love-lorn looks each other's way until someone (Feuilly) got sick of it and made them sit closer together so that they could be disgusting in close proximity.

Grantaire and Jehan got into a discussion-cum-argument about the Renaissance which quickly dissolved into them shouting insults at each other in Portuguese ( _"Você são um perdedor."_ _  
_

_"Um estúpido."_

_"Um abacaxia."_

_"How_ dare  _you call my boyfriend a pineapple."_

 _"I think he meant headache, actually."_ ) while Combeferre and Enjolras rolled their eyes over their boyfriends' heads because they were ridiculous and why were they dating such dorks?

Later, 'Ferre and Enjolras got into a heated debate (well, as heated as their debates ever got—it was very hard for Enjolras to get angry when 'Ferre was being so annoyingly  _reasonable_ about everything) about education policies and they pretended they couldn't see their boyfriends mouthing " _they're such losers_ " to each other, because it wasn't as if it weren't true.

Eponine and Cosette engaged in a 'who can make Marius turn the brightest shade of red' competition which Courfeyrac endorsed and Feuilly judged with more intensity than, it could be argued, the situation had warranted. (The game was called at a tie when it became apparent that Marius was either going to spontaneously combust or burst into tears).

At some point during the night, they remembered that tomorrow was still, in fact, a thing and that most of them had jobs that they would have to wake up early for. They filtered out in small groups: Bahorel first, because he had _things_ to do, the nature of which he refused to explain, much like the nature of his degree; then, Joly, Bossuet and Musichetta because two of the three of them had early starts and the other one firmly believed in at least eight hours sleep and was more than prepared to impose it on the others; Feuilly next because he had promised a church a few miles away that he would help them set up their charity gala; followed by Eponine, Cosette and Marius who all had the day off but wished to spend it doing as little as possible; and finally Enjolras dragging an exhausted Grantaire behind him (why anyone would schedule a portrait for four in the morning was beyond him, romantic dawn lighting  _his ass_ ).

After they had finished their undergraduate degrees, (and after Enjolras and Grantaire had started dating) the three of them had decided to try living in separate apartments. Codependent as they were, however, when a new apartment block had opened with three reasonably priced flats on one floor, they couldn't resist becoming next door neighbours. They all had each other's keys and they (and the rest of their friends) had a habit of wandering in and out of the different spaces.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Courf said, stretching and yawning. "You know, when I wake you up to come and harass you into helping me clean up."

Combeferre hummed in agreement, the week's exhaustion hitting him all at once.

"You know, in exchange for being an  _awesome_ host, and one out of two of your best friends in the entire  _universe_ and all—"  


"Goodnight, Courf," Combeferre said, giving him a tired smile.

"Night 'Ferre," Courfeyrac said, disappearing into his bedroom. "Night Jehan." He hugs them both before he heads off, absentmindedly bumping into furniture as he goes.

Ferre and Jehan sat there for a little longer, Jehan's head resting on Combeferre's shoulder as 'Ferre played with the copper strands of his hair, winding them around his fingers.

"Do you want to stay over?" Combeferre asked eventually, not wanting to sleep on Courfeyrac's couch, no matter how comfortable it felt.

" _Ma'lista_ ," Jehan said, " _eukha'ristos eimi._ I'd like that."

" _Éla 'dó̱_ ," Combeferre replied, but it was a long time before they stumbled into 'Ferre's apartment, and they both fell asleep the moment they pull the covers up.

 *

They were woken by the sound of knocking on Combeferre’s bedroom door. Jehan rolled over, wrapping his arms around Combeferre's waist and snuggling against his chest. The knocking persisted but he ignored it the best he could, hooking his legs over Combeferre's and attempting to drag them both further under the duvet.

"I know you're awake, 'Ferre," Courf said, and Jehan resisted the urge to groan. Of all their friends, Courfeyrac was, by far, the most persistent (and how he managed to be so energetic at seven-am was a mystery to all of them), and pretending to be asleep did not appear to be a viable course of action.

Combeferre shifted, absentmindedly running a hand through Jehan's hair, and Jehan pulled back a little to smile sleepily up at him. Combeferre returned the grin, pressing a finger to his lips and pointing at the door.

There was a brief moment of silence during which they wondered if Courf had given up or not, but they have no such luck as a few moments later they heard him whine, " _Enj, 'Ferre is ignoring me_."

Through they door they heard Enjolras reply, " _I'm_ ignoring you."

Despite the fact they couldn't see him, they could practically hear Courf pouting through the door. Jehan had to press his face into the sheets to stifle his laughter and he could feel the vibrations from Combeferre's chest as his shoulders shook with amusement.

"I'm going to come in," Courf announced, "you're always awake by now and Enj is being mean to me."

'Ferre composed himself to call back, "I'd rather prefer it if you didn't."

There was a suspicion-laden pause from Courf's side of the door. “Do you have _company?_ ” he said eventually, with an excited gasp. “Do you have your _boyfriend_ in there with you? Is that why I’m not allowed to come in?” (And if Courf weren't so _involved_ with the love lives—real or imaginary—of all their friends, ‘Ferre would be a little concerned.)

Combeferre pulled Jehan up and pressed their noses together, grins splitting their faces, but neither of them responded. They heard the sound of retreating footsteps and they pulled the cover further up, hoping they've managed to secured some silcence. Then,

“Enj, ‘Ferre has _company,_ ” Courf said, then in an exaggerated stage whisper, “ _I think ’Ferre had sex._ ”

Combeferre could almost hear the frown on Enjolras’ face from two rooms away and through three doors (he was physically incapable of being pleasant before at least midday). “Leave him _alone_ , Courf,” he said, exasperated. “Leave _me_ alone.”

“’Ferre didn’t have sex, actually,” Jehan called. “Ferre did lots of cuddling instead.” 

Courfeyrac made an excited noise and called back, “Can I come in and cuddle as well?”

“ _No,_ ” They both shouted, and for a moment they felt a little guilty, because for the most part, Courf was completely harmless (though he could be almost as scary as ‘Ferre if he decided to put enough effort into it); but they could distantly hear the sounds of Enjolras being smothered with affection, so they considered all well.

Jehan curled further into Combeferre and whispered, “ _Sterculus_.” into his chest. Combeferre continued to laugh.

They traded lazy kisses for most of the morning, grinning at each other as they fell into and out of sleep, until ‘Ferre, sat between Jehan’s legs, said: “Recite me something.”

Jehan ran his hand through the short strands of Combeferre’s hair. “Like what?” he asked, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Anything,” ‘Ferre replied, relaxing into the touch, trying his hardest not to fall asleep again. “Juvenal.”

Jehan’s hand continued its movements as he wrapped his other arm around ‘Ferre’s waist. “Juvenal’s tenth Satire, from line fifty-six, on the hollowness of power,” he says, timbre even, voice low. “ _Quosdam praecipitat subiecta potentia magnae; inuidiae, mergit longa atque insignis honorum; pagina. descendunt statuae restemque secuntur, ipsas deinde rotas bigarum inpacta secures…_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Bibliography:  
> http://www.alittlehebrew.com/transliterate/  
> http://www.topverses.com/Bible/Isaiah  
> http://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/Latin/JuvenalSatires10.htm#anchor_Toc284248932  
> http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/juvenal/10.shtml  
> https://translate.google.com/?hl=en&tab=TT (the translations are awful, but it works pretty well for romanisations)  
> http://www.youswear.com/index.asp?language=Latin
> 
> *is not so lazy that they can't cite sources*
> 
> random tense change at the end (though not anywhere else) is intentional for effect
> 
> language corrections (and others) are 100% welcome.  
> title comes from the book of Isiah 1:18 (I think) which I recommend you read in the KJV, seriously


End file.
